My Home of Emptiness
by Fighter1357
Summary: The emptiness looms over him everyday. He cries, sometimes, and doesn't let his mother know. He draws a picture of his home without the emptitness. And everyday, as long as that emptiness is there, he knows that he has yet to be home.


**This is a sad one-shot. *sniffles* To enhance it, listen to ****_Le Moulin _****by ****_Yann Tiersan_****.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, just the plot. I do not give permisson for ANYONE to use this idea unless allowed to be me. I don't like it when that happens. **

**Please understand that I wrote this on a whim and I have no reason to continue it. If one day in the far future I feel like it, I will. Also, I do recommend listening to the music. It helps. **

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Percy sat there in his small room, coloring with crayons. The eight year old was silent, listening to the storm that raged about outside of their apartment. He was tight lipped and his normally tanned face was slightly pale and his eyes were sunken in and red, puffy.

He'd been crying.

The rain clattered on his window and the small drip-drap that came from the roof broke the silence. Percy Jackson looked up, glancing as the water soaked through and fell from the ceiling. He sighed and resisted the urge to cry, they would have to move again. His mother didn't have the money to fix stuff like that. They were poor and lived in old, ratty apartment buildings. They lived in Manhattan, on the upper-west side, but the conditions there weren't good at all. It wasn't that he minded, he was used to it, but sometimes it was hard to bare. Sometimes, he just wanted run away and relieve his mother of her burden; him.

He stood up, dropping the crayon with a quick glance at his drawing and then snatched a bucket from next to his bed. He placed the bucket under where the water was dripping, and listened to the water _clink_ against the metal. His eyes watched the clear liquid fall and collect in the bucket and then he hesitated, faltering as he pivoted back to his drawing.

_Water was intoxicating, sometimes to him. _

The picture sat there on the dirty wooden floors, surrounded with an array of crayons and colored pencils. A few we're broken and lay there in pieces, as he has gotten frustrated with them and broken them. The picture was mostly blue and a bit if grey and black had worked its way in.

He carefully walked back over and sat down tentatively, his vibrant sea green eyes a slightly dull color as the took on the mood in the room; sad and fore lone. The emptiness of his room loomed over him like a shadow. It followed him to school and it sat beside him at night when he lay in bed, tears staining his sheets. The emptiness would laugh, he could hear it in the wind that would howl at night or when he walked down the steel steps alone up to their apartment.

He didn't want to let his mother know he'd been crying, so he did it in silent. Tears would flood over his eyes and stream down his face like rivers, leaving little tracks when they were gone. He hates it when his mother saw him cry; it wasn't because he looked weak but because he was afraid. His father had abandoned him, why couldn't his mother? Even though his mother gave no inclination that she would be leaving, the way she had described his father, it had sounded like he hadn't either, and yet he did leave them. All alone. Emptiness was there again, laughing at him.

He stated down at his picture of the swirling ocean, the waves curled over top on another and a storm, lightning flashing, raged up above the waves that churned and swirled below. He always assumed they were fighting, but that didn't matter, he always felt at home in the ocean. Breathing the salty air and feeling the sand fold over his toes, feeling the smooth, silky water pass around his legs and feet. It felt so good! That was when emptiness fled him, leaving him to the darkness that would hang over him during the days.

He reached down and grabbed his picture of home, flipping it over he grasped a black crayon tightly. On the back, he wrote, "My Home".

Looking at it with a new light on his eyes, a smile grazed his lips and he sat the drawing on his bed, as he didn't have a desk.

"Percy, dear, dinner is ready," his mother called out.

His head snapped up and his dull eyes lingered on the door. He grabs his shirt and wipes the tear tracks and tears from his eyes. He pauses a moment as he turns to the door, the storm is still out there and he was still in there. He wanted to break free from the epmtiness, and so did the storm; but it wanted to break from from itself. Yet he stood there, listening to the thunder and rain the would boom and clatter outside.

He then walled slowly toward his door and wrenched it open.

And still, he had yet to be home.

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**SadSad? I thought so... the music helps though. **

**Review, please.**


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